Chapter Twelve #2
Everything becomes a blur. His persuasive lips, the rhythmic slide of his tongue against mine.
His fingers tease the hem of my sweater before slipping to the bare skin beneath.
I gasp into his mouth, and he pulls away slightly.
I open my eyes to find he’s watching me, concern in his gray gaze. I offer the tiniest nod.
The dimples appear briefly before he ducks his head, his mouth finding my neck.
I tilt my head back to give him better access while I stare up at the ceiling.
All of my thoughts and worries disappear the moment his mouth is on my skin, licking and nibbling, and I close my eyes, desperate to escape my life for even a few minutes and lose myself in this.
I hear voices in the corridor, but I ignore them, which is a bad move on my part, since the door cracks open mere seconds later, letting in a sliver of light.
Connor rears back, the panic on his face obvious.
I decide not to think too hard about why he’d panic if we were caught making out and instead grab his hand to drag him down behind the nearby couch.
Whoever’s coming into the room won’t spot us unless they purposefully walk behind the furniture.
I rest my finger against my lips, and he nods, both of us remaining silent when someone begins to speak.
“Why did you drag me into this musty old room, anyway? God, it smells like the library in here.”
Great. It’s Abigail. I’d recognize her bitchy tone anywhere.
“It smells like the library because there are a ton of books in here. Are you dense, Abby?” Priya’s snarky tone shocks me. She so very rarely talks back to her bulldog bestie.
“Are we in here so you can finally tell me what’s crawled up your ass? You’ve been a complete bitch since we arrived.” Abigail sounds totally put out. I’m sure she’s not used to Priya flipping her attitude.
“I’m sick of how mean you are when you use the generic Ativan. You turn into an asshole and treat me like shit when you’re on it. It’s exhausting,” Priya huffs.
Connor and I share a look, though he doesn’t appear too surprised by this revelation.
I knew they were on something when they were studying in our room that one night.
This is the confirmation I needed, not that I know how it helps me at all when it comes to Isla and Emily.
Priya seems too uptight for drugs, so I guess what this information actually reveals is that my stuck-up, academically obsessed roommate isn’t exactly the good girl she seems to be.
I’ve been operating under a number of assumptions about Priya, but has that kept me from seeing how she might be involved with what happened to the girls?
Emily was Priya’s roommate. Was Priya dealing to her? Could Emily’s death be drug-related?
“Fine. I’ll get the good stuff next time.” Abigail sniffs. “You usually don’t complain.”
“It’s been long enough that I can tell the difference.” Priya’s tone is sulky.
“If that’s what you want, I’ll get it next time. But don’t come crying to me when there’s not enough Ritalin to get us through term.” There’s a pause in conversation, and Abigail’s tone switches to a more supplicating, almost whiny tone. “Come on, P. Don’t be mad at me.”
“You didn’t even say anything about my outfit, and I wore it just for you.”
Connor and I exchange a look, and I know we’re both desperate to peek around the edge of the couch to see what Priya is wearing. I shake my head once, because there’s no way we’re risking discovery for the sake of Priya’s sartorial choices.
“Let me have a look at you,” Abigail says.
“Go on, do a little spin.” A beat of silence practically echoes in the room, and then Abigail—I think?
—sucks in a sharp inhale. “You know how I feel about thigh-highs, P. They look absolutely darling when you have your legs over my shoulders. Now come here and let me apologize properly …”
There’s no more talking. Instead, I hear lips connecting and little whimpers.
I relax back against the sturdy couch. Connor does the same because I’m sure he realizes we’re stuck here for the long haul.
Who knew this was the chosen make-out room at the Pembroke residence?
Connor was right with his predictions, too. Couples fighting. Couples hooking up.
Look at us.
Connor nudges me in the ribs, and I turn my head to find he’s crossing his eyes.
He twists his lips, making a ridiculous face to try and make me crack, but I don’t.
I’m made of stronger stuff than that. I mime zipping my lips and point at him, but he just flashes that dopey grin of his, the one where the dimples pop, and my resistance melts.
I hear a little moan coming from the girls and send Connor a knowing glance before I focus my gaze straight ahead.
The couch is close to a massive window, and the ledge is covered with framed photos in a variety of shapes and sizes.
I study them in the dim light coming from outside, squinting to see them better.
Some of the photos are in black and white, they’re so old, while others are from more recent times.
My gaze stops on one photo in particular, and I barely contain a gasp.
A teenage boy wearing the classic dark-green Wickham uniform jacket is standing beneath the too-familiar tree near the cliffs.
There’s a younger girl standing in front of him wearing an adorable blue dress, her hair in two ponytails topped with silky white bows.
He’s smiling, staring straight at the camera while the girl looks up at him.
The realization hits me like a bolt of lightning.
It’s the boy from the statue in the alumni garden.
I know it is. He looks a little younger here, like the photo might’ve been taken when he first started at Wickham, but it’s the same person who had his arm around my mother’s shoulders in the class photo.
Who’s the girl? Are they both related to the Pembroke family somehow?
“HOT TUB!” someone screeches from the corridor, making me jump.
Priya and Abigail jump as well, presumably.
They both squeal, and when I check on Connor, I have to cover my mouth again for fear I’ll start giggling.
He’s making another goofy face, his eyes crossed so hard I’m afraid he’s going to hurt himself.
I try to shove him away, but he uses his strength to crowd me.
I back away at the last second, averting my face from his seeking mouth.
“We should go join everyone at the hot tub,” Abigail suggests, her tone lighter.
“It’ll be full of people.” Priya’s voice is slightly grating. Either Abigail has a brat fetish or Priya really is the whiniest snob. “Let’s just stay in here.”
“It’ll feel good to soak in the water, and then we can catch up on the good gossip. Plus, I want to see you in the pink bikini. You did bring the pink bikini, didn’t you?” Priya must nod, because Abigail says, “Good girl. Come on. We can do this later.”
Definitely a brat fetish.
Within seconds, the door clicks shut. Connor and I stare at each other for a moment before he finally speaks.
“Well, that was a close one.”
“Generic Ativan?” I raise my brows.
“Probably helps them sleep after they pop all that Ritalin to stay awake and study.” He shrugs like it’s no big deal.
“Uh-huh.” I let him kiss me this time, his soft yet firm lips working their magic within seconds.
Everything in me screams to let him lean me back on the soft carpet, let him cover my body with his.
When Connor kisses me, the low-level worry constantly humming under my skin goes quiet.
With our eyes closed and our bodies doing all the talking, I can be Billie—I can be myself.
It’s all I want right now, to strip away the Belinda parts of me and give Connor the truth of who I am.
But instead, I press my hands against his chest to shove him away.
I’m not here to be me or lose myself in a cute boy’s hot caresses. I’m here to investigate a murder, and it’s time to act like it. Peter warned me not to get distracted. If he could see me now …
Well, let’s just be grateful he can’t see me now.
“Maybe we should go to the hot tub, too.”
He frowns. “It’ll be crowded, like Abigail said.”
“I don’t mind. Especially if you brought the pink bikini I like so much,” I say in a terrible imitation of Abigail’s accent. Connor chokes out a laugh but backs off, adjusting himself as he stands and extends a hand toward me. When we’re both upright again, I pull him in for one last kiss.
It’s what Belinda would do. Probably.
“You should leave the room first, don’t you think?” I say against his mouth.
“Why?” He pulls back, looking genuinely confused, which is adorable. I guess his panic at being caught before was more about being discovered in a private moment than it was about being discovered in a private moment with me.
I scoot closer so I can slip my fingers into his dark, soft hair. I sift through the silky strands once. Twice. I decide to test my hypothesis. “We don’t want to get caught together, right?”
He frowns. Almost looks … hurt. “You don’t want to be seen with me?”
“I don’t want to be seen sneaking out of the darkened library with you,” I clarify. “That’s not the kind of impression I want to make the first time I’m at the Pembrokes’ home, at an event full of alumni.”
“I understand.” He kisses me again, but it’s brief. As if he understands the effect he has on my brain cells. “I’ll leave now and you’ll join me in a few minutes?”
I nod. Let him kiss me again because I’m weak. Then he turns and exits the room quickly. The door shuts behind him, and the only thing that lingers is the scent of his cologne.
Can’t believe the girls didn’t notice, but maybe they’re not Connor-obsessed like I am.
Ugh. I need to stop thinking like that.
Taking my chance now that I’m alone, I grab the picture of the girl and boy under the tree, turn it over, undo the clasps that keep the stand connected to the frame, and pull the actual photo out. Written on the back in perfect cursive is: George and Daphne, 1994.
George and Daphne. Probably siblings, based on their similar features.
I stuff the photo back into the frame and reassemble everything before returning it to the crowded ledge.
I would love to stay here and study all the pictures, maybe figure out who the girl is and, by proxy, who the boy is.
But I have to swing back around to the foyer where we entered and grab my bag from the hall closet.
Sophia made me pack a swimsuit, since she said the likelihood we’d end up in the Pembrokes’ hot tub was high.
She was right, which doesn’t surprise me at all, and I vow to find her and ensure she’s been invited to the hot tub, too. It’s what a friend would do.
Within seconds of leaving the library, I spot Peter and Whitney in the hallway, heading straight toward me, though their heads are close together and their gazes are trained low. I freeze in place, irritated with myself that I didn’t consider they would be attending an alumni party.
“… and half these people think our daughter is a murderer. If they’re not whispering behind our backs, they’re outright staring at us. Not sure why we bothered coming to this.” Even though his voice is hushed, I can hear Peter’s irritation come through like he’s talking into a bullhorn.
“Daphne specifically said we should come tonight. She said there was no point in hiding because we have nothing to hide. Remember?”
“Hello, hi.” I rush toward them, putting on a bright smile. The sperm donor also known as Peter seems startled by my appearance, as does Whitney. “Did you say Daphne?”
“Well, hello Belinda.” Whitney’s smile seems genuine, which helps me ignore the scowl on Peter’s face. “So lovely to see you.”
My manners fly out the window. I’m too focused on the name she just said. “Who’s Daphne?”
“Daphne Pembroke. Freddie’s mother? We were in the same graduating class,” Whitney explains.
“And that was in …”
“2001. Three years after your father—I mean, your parents—graduated.” Whitney blinks rapidly, and I swear Peter’s scowl deepens.
What was that all about?
“HOT TUB!” someone screams. “Come on, everybody!” “We can’t be seen chatting like this, Belinda.
” Peter’s dismissive words cut me to the bone.
The next second, they’re pushing past me—or rather, Peter is pulling Whitney past me, and she’s offering me a small, apologetic smile as she lets herself get dragged away.
I’m too distracted by this new discovery to get as annoyed as I should be at Peter’s shitty attitude. If I’m right and the two people in the photo I spotted are related, then Daphne Pembroke is a sister or cousin to the boy my mom was involved with during her time at Wickham.
I’m not entirely sure what to make of that, but maybe a soothing soak in the hot tub will help me figure it out.